The background: Lockah is Tom Banks, a young DJ and producer from Scotland who is in a similar electronic ballpark to Rustie and Hudson Mohawke, his music pummelling soundsystems with its deep sub-bass and almost churchily grandiose synth chords. He's been credited with allying his strong keyboard melodies to bass motifs and beats that allude to juke, rap, boogie, electro and Italo dance styles, but a lot of the time it's like listening to a prog keyboardist trying to drown out the sound of a pirate radio. You can barely move for arpeggios and glissandos, and it makes us think of Rick Wakeman in a tussle with Rinse FM. When he's not offering some weird hybrid of prog and techno, dubstep or house, Lockah's giving it loads of synth majesty, as though he's belatedly fulfilling a fantasy to provide the rousing climax to an 80s Tony Scott blockbuster. So much for the bustling, bright tracks. His darker ones sound like John Carpenter playing Galaxian with Skrillex in a disco in space.

Banks is the founder of the Tuff Wax label and he's issued stuff on various imprints such as Skrillex's OWSLA and Mad Decent offshoot Jeffree's. He's had early support from Skream and Benga and he's part of a wave of "max maximalists" that also includes Bobby Tank and Madeon. Actually, his music isn't quite as frenetic and fast-cut as HudMo's and Rustie's (or Tank's), and when he settles on a theme he tends to stick with it, at least for a few bars, as opposed to cramming in eleventy-seven different snippets every eighth of a millisecond. Banks calls what he does "rap-influenced pop", describing it as "a formula of grime and crunk, pop, soulful hardcore/jungle and R&B". He also claims you can hear in his songs his love of the Beatles, surf music, Motown and the Human League. We can't, not even if we squint really hard. But we can hear bits of smoov jazz-funk, faux-stately synths, sped-up chipmunk vox, and rhythms that are half-Dalston, half-Chicago, sort of drum'n'juke. Much of the music seems designed to soundtrack significant sports events or historical battles. One of the tracks opens with house piano before edging towards a dubstep drop. The titles are good: Sly Winking Usury is one, This is True Muscle Suicide is another. His remix of Lana Del Rey's Video Games sounds like music for a video game, but he's no one-trick pony: he's done a slow-R&B mix that takes the brilliant Miguel and his indie-soul ilk and glitchifies and pitch-shifts them like there's no tomorrow, which will infuriate Miguel because he's got an appointment with the hairdresser in the morning.